Chased by Heather Ashley

My toes point,and my fingers reach over my head as I stretch and then roll back into the pile of blankets I buried myself in last night, right in the center of my bed. For a minute, the ghost of a smile skates across my face before reality slams back into me, and my eyes fly open.

Everything that happened last night—from almost being fucking snatched out of a parking lot, like some episode of Without a Trace waiting to happen, to having to pretend I didn't want to play on the Ronin jungle gym all night long—was the dictionary definition of a train wreck.

Okay, maybe not, like, the Webster's dictionary definition, but there's gotta be some Urban Dictionary term that fits.

I'm pretty sure I'm on the verge of a panic attack when I bolt upright, my chest rising and falling faster and faster as my lungs tighten, but then I see Ronin sprawled out in the armchair near my bed. My racing heart immediately starts to calm.

Those depthless eyes of his track my every movement, dropping to my chest where I'm still in that white shirt from last night, but my bra's gone. I bet my nipples are completely visible through the thin material, especially since they've hardened into points under his attention. There's something about how his gaze darkens and his tongue slides across his lower lip that makes everything inside me clench with so much need that a quiet gasp slips out from between my lips.

Even though the sound is so quiet I figure only I heard it, his head snaps up, and his whole body tenses. For a second, I think he might say fuck it and crawl over me and make every Ronin fantasy I've ever had come true. I'm talking the kind of shit I've worn out more than one vibrator with.

But then he swallows hard and blinks, shaking his head slightly and I watch with disappointment as the lusty haze between us clears away like it was never there. My bottom lip pops out in a pout that really can't be helped, considering my underwear are ruined, and my poor pussy is going to be feeling the loss of what almost was for days, I'm sure.

My eyes glaze over as I get lost in the fantasy of what might've happened if we gave in, and Ronin growls from where he's still perched in the armchair. "You're imagining us fucking right now, aren't you?" he asks. His voice low and husky, and a shiver dances down my spine straight to my already drenched core.

The way my body reacts to him is insane. If I never get to feel what those big hands and hopefully equally big dick can do to every inch of me, it'll be an absolute tragedy.

I bite my lip and weigh whether or not to be honest here. I wonder what the chances are that if I tell him, yes, in fact, I am thinking about how his dick would feel inside me and how his hands would feel sliding up the curves of my body, he'll actually do something about it.

Fuck it, I decide to go with the truth. "Maybe. Just a little."

He breathes out a laugh, and I can't help but laugh, too. "How do you fuck someone just a little?" he asks, making air quotes around the last part and breaking the tension between us.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t know, since I doubt you have ‘just a little’ to work with,” I laugh back, complete with air quotes.

Unfortunately, it's obvious that we're not going to be acting out my fantasy today, and now he definitely knows I'm into everything he's got going on, but at least I'm not thinking about last night. Nope, I'm focusing on the way the skin around his eyes crinkles just a bit when he smiles and how his dark hair falls into his eyes when he leans forward as if he's anxious to hear my answer to his question.

His long fingers sweep the strands away, and I'm so fixated on the movement I forget he asked me anything at all. Shit, I don't know what's going on with me this morning. It's like my body's response to trauma is to get insanely horny, and now picturing whether Ronin has a six- or eight-pack under his black band t-shirt is all the complex thought I'm capable of.

I lift my shoulder, hoping that he doesn't press further because I really don't have an answer. My t-shirt slips down and off my shoulder with the motion, and he swallows hard. Right about then is when the logical part of my brain decides to come out of her stupor and smack me upside the head with a whole lot of you want a baby daddy, bitch. Keep your legs closed.

I adjust my shirt and pull it back up before crossing my arms over my chest. As much as I might want Ronin like I've never wanted anyone before, I can't have him. His words from last night were his truth—that he doesn't want, and will probably never want, anything serious with anyone. I'm not about to be one of those girls who thinks that if she can get a guy hooked on her magical pussy, suddenly he'll change his mind and decide he wants more.

Okay, so my pussy is pretty magical, but still. He spelled out exactly what he wants—and doesn't—and I have to respect that, even if it sucks huge hairy donkey balls. Ronin isn't going to be the guy for me. He's just not, and my damn libido needs to get the message.

Too bad it's so complicated right now because, as far as I can tell, we're going to be spending a lot of time close together for the foreseeable future. I wouldn't want it any other way; he makes me feel safe in a way no one else does.

So, that means I need to double down on my efforts to find my person—or my sperm donor. The one who completes me or whatever, who makes birds circle my head singing songs, and my eyes pop out with hearts, and a waterfall pour out of my vagina. Or, you know, the one who has good genetic markers that will mix well with mine.

So romantic.

The sooner I find him, the better.

Logically, doesn't it make sense that if I'm crushing hardcore on a guy, the best way to deal with that is to find someone I like even better?

Okay, but also why do men suck so bad? Seriously, though. Why can’t I—a successful as fuck, and stunningly gorgeous, confident woman walk into a bar and tell a guy she wants to have his baby without sounding like a complete psychopath?

Blowing out a breath, I lean back against the headboard, gathering the blankets around me like armor. I'm going to need about thirty layers of these things to make me feel like there's enough distance between us, to keep from wanting to peel off my clothes and put on a show to entice Ronin in.

It's official: I've gone straight-up siren.

"What's the plan for today?" I ask, hoping it'll distract us both. "I've got to go into the office because I'm meeting with a new client this afternoon."

Ronin sits up straighter, and I have to hold back so hard from looking at his lap to see if there's a bulge there. It won't do me any good to know if he's as affected by me as I am by him—it'll only make it harder for me to move on to someone who's in the same place I am.

Get it? Harder?

Heh.

Ronin scrubs his hand over his face, and I notice how much stubble covers his usually smooth jawline. "I'll take you to your office this afternoon, but when we're not in this apartment, you don't go anywhere without me, Spitfire. Understood?"

When he uses the nickname that slipped out last night, my insides light up like the fireworks show at Disneyland. "What if I need to use the bathroom?"

"Any. Where."

Well, okay, then. "Did you even sleep?" I ask, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

"Not yet, but I will."

"When?"

"When we've found the guy who tried to take you, and you're safe," he says, which sounds great in theory, but shit like that can take time.

"And you think not sleeping is going to keep you sharp enough to make sure I stay safe?" I point out, kicking off the blankets and moving to sit on the edge of the bed where I can face him and show him how serious I am about this. "You need help.”

Ronin looks like he wants to argue, but he's only one man. As much as it makes me all warm and squishy inside that he's taking it on himself to protect me, he's going to burn out fast, and we'll both be in more danger because of it.

Finally, his body relaxes a bit, and he relents. "I’ll call in Indy, but only because I'm fucking tired, and I may have just hallucinated this whole conversation."

An evil sort of grin curves my lips, and I really can't help it. He makes it easy to fuck with him, and if I can't have him how I want, I can at least torture him a bit. "Make the call, big guy. You need a nap."

His eyes stay locked on me while he shifts in the chair and pulls out his phone, finally breaking eye contact so he can find the contact and make the call. I wait patiently while he talks to Connor and finally hangs up.

"Indy will be here in twenty minutes." He slips his phone back into his pocket, and I jump up from the bed, turning my back on him and bending over, so he has a nice, clear view of my ass in the tiny shorts I like to sleep in.

Pretending I don't hear the groan from behind me, I bite my lip to hide my smile and straighten the blankets before folding back the corner. "Great, you climb in bed, and I'll go make some breakfast."

I spin around, and he can't get his eyes off my ass fast enough for me not to notice, so I saunter over to him and pat him on the cheek. "No arguments."

He stands to his full six-two height, and I bitch slap the urge that rises up to press my body up against his. I want to wrap my limbs around him like an octopus, but instead, I'm left with his cologne in my lungs and the faint traces of his heat against my back as I walk away.

When I turn back to ask whether he wants an omelet or my usual oatmeal and fruit, he's pulling his shirt over his head in that stupid sexy way guys do and revealing all sorts of ink and muscles that make my mouth go dry.

Eight. It's an eight-pack.

Fuck. Me.

Words. I need to make words, but I can't, so I'm going with the omelet. Yep, focusing on the more complicated of the two breakfasts will hopefully calm down the bitch of a sexual deviant that lives inside me now.

Hopefully, by the time I'm done, Indy will be here and be the perfect barrier to keep me from accidentally slipping and falling right on Ronin's dick.

You know, on accident.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm carrying a tray filled with orange juice, a bacon and cheese omelet filled with veggies, and some toast into my bedroom. It surprises me when I find Ronin under the covers, already half asleep. His eyes are half-lidded and not in the turned-on way, but in the way that shows he's been fighting his exhaustion, waiting for me to bring him food. I’m also pretty shocked that he’s not fighting me on any of this. It just goes to show how tired he really is.

He's gotta be running on absolute fumes right now between not eating and staying up all night watching over me. Now I feel kind of bad about the great night of sleep I got, but I like to think I'm making it up to him with breakfast and my expensive as hell memory foam mattress and thousand-thread-count sheets.

"Hungry, big guy?" I ask as I set the tray down across his legs and watch as he sits up and the blanket slips down his divine body.

His eyes run up my body as he says, "Starving," and damn if I don't want to chuck the tray over my shoulder and jump into bed. But logic is winning this morning, and Indy will be here any second. I'm sure Ronin's the professional type that wouldn't want one of his co-workers to think he's literally fucking around on the job.

No, he’s always struck me as the guy who lives by the rules.

As soon as Indy gets here, it's time for a date with my shower—and the detachable showerhead's pulsing massage setting—and then I'm going to get into work mode. I've been working on signing my newest client for weeks, and today's the day. My attempted kidnapping and runaway libido aren't getting in the way of my career.

Nope. Not today, Satan.

I can only imagine that Ronin playing along with me, on this little game we've got going this morning, has more to do with his defenses being down because he's exhausted than him wanting to actually act on his impulses. I'm not about to be a regret.

With perfect timing, there's a knock on the door, and Ronin's expression turns all business in a snap. He starts to sit up, and I push him back, my palm resting on his sculpted chest in a way that makes my heart pound so violently it might crack a rib, but I ignore the way his skin feels under my hand. "You stay and eat. I'm sure it's just Indy, but I'll check the peephole first to be certain. If it's anyone else, I'll come get you, okay?"

He grinds his teeth together, looking like he wants to fight me, but I don't give him the chance, hurrying out of the room before he can stop me. I'm all about staying safe, and I'm not trying to be kidnapped by some sicko, but I'm also not going to sit here and act like I'm helpless and haven't been living on my own for the last fifteen years. I know how to use a goddamn peephole.

I lift onto my toes and peek out into the hallway through the tiny glass hole in the door and see Indy's messy curls and scruffy jaw looking back at me. I don't know what the hell's in the water over at Hollywood Guardians, but every single person who works there is ridiculously attractive.

"I can feel you staring, Montana," Indy drawls, and his voice is muffled through the door, but I roll my eyes and yank the door open, gesturing for him to come inside.

"Like I'd just open the door and let you in without checking first. I’m no horror movie heroine."

He swaggers inside like he owns the place, all cocky confidence and charm, while he kicks the door shut behind him and turns to lock it. I'm reminded of why the only one of the guys on Connor's team I'm into is Ronin. He's got that same confidence, but it's quieter and more subtle. "Well, no more checking the front door for you. I'm here now. Actually, you shouldn't have been the one to get the door in the first place. Protocol, you know?" His brows furrow. "Where's Ronin?"

Indy twists his head back and forth, looking around the room, and I roll my eyes. "He's exhausted, so he's taking a nap. Leave him alone. I've got some shit to get done before my client meeting this afternoon, so I'm going to shower, and then I'll be in my office." With Shadow Phoenix winding their career down, it’s time for some new blood in my portfolio, so today’s meeting is doubly important and I need to go over everything with a fine tooth comb to make sure nothing is missed.

"Got it. Just a heads up—and I'll tell Ronin when he wakes up—but Sebastian got all the security footage from the restaurant last night, and there wasn't anything usable. Most of the cameras weren't functional, and the ones that were hit the wrong angles. So, for now, we watch and stick close to you, but we're not going to give up hunting that asshole down. Okay?"

With his words, all my earlier playfulness and horniness withered into nothing, and fear took their place. Last night I told myself it was likely random, just some opportunistic asshole out for a creepy walk in the dark. When I separated myself from the other girls, he took his shot. If he doesn't know who I am and it was totally random, there's really nothing else to be afraid of, as long as I stick close to my bodyguards and don't try to pretend nothing happened.

If it wasn't random, well… fuck.

For a brief second I wonder if I should call my parents or my asshole brother and let them know, but I’m, like, ninety-five percent sure they wouldn’t care and maybe eighty-percent that they’d side with the nutjob kidnapper and be disappointed he wasn’t successful.

Yeah, my kidnapping attempt can wait for the weekly obligatory phone call my mom insists on, even if all she does the entire time is brag about Damon and cut off any attempt I make to fill her in on my life.

You’d think her own daughter would at least garner some interest over her adopted step son, but whatever.

I’m not even a little bit bitter.

When I really think about it, it's not like I'm the most low-profile person out there. I manage one of the biggest bands in the world, and while they're the ones in the spotlight, my name's been in the press linked to them enough times for a simple Google search to reveal who I am.

Yeah, I'm not really thrilled to continue down that disturbing train of thought, so I head for the shower. I stay in there until the water runs cold, my muscles are relaxed, and I'm feeling cleaner than I have since this whole thing happened, even if my skin does still burn from the damn pepper spray. If it's possible to wash away bad memories, I just did a damn good job of rinsing it all down the drain.

Sneaking into my room, I grab a sundress and some underwear because they're the bare minimum I can get away with clothes-wise, and I don't want to wake Ronin up. His whole face is relaxed in sleep, and he's got one arm thrown up over his head and partially across his eyes. He looks so at ease; all I want to do is crawl in there with him for a nap, but I have shit to do, and I don't think getting in bed with my crush while I'm naked and wet from the shower is the best way to keep distance between us.

I hurry back into the bathroom, get dressed, and then quietly leave the room, heading for my office. I nod at Indy, who's eating a sandwich while sitting on my couch, looking completely at home. Something about his fearless energy puts me at ease, like he's got this wild violence inside that he masks with easy smiles and charm. It's reassuring having that intensity on my side, and I'm glad he's the one Ronin called in to rotate with him.

Hours fly by as I get lost in my work, making calls and sending emails. I think this new band I came across on YouTube would be a great fit for Phoenix Records—the label the guys from Shadow Phoenix started a couple of years ago—and I've been working on bringing Jericho Cole and Death by Debauchery together in a room since both their schedules are insane.

Today's finally the day, though, and I'm not missing this meeting for anything. I could be fucking kidnapped, and I'd still find a way to be there.

I snort at my own ridiculousness as I pack up my laptop and everything else I'm going to need while I'm at the office, and then go to my bedroom to change into something more work-appropriate. I used to do the whole power suit thing, but now I'm good with more business casual, so I pair an old Shadow Phoenix t-shirt that I've knotted at the front with skinny black Valentino slacks and a pair of Jimmy Choo lace ankle booties. Throwing a tailored cream Dior blazer on, I check my reflection, and damn.

My outfit might be hot, but I look like a washed-out ghost in the face, and it's all sorts of disturbing how I don't even recognize the girl staring back at me. After a whole shit ton of mascara, concealer, and blush, I swipe on some tinted lip gloss and finally feel more like myself.

When I step out of the bathroom and into my room, the bed is empty and made up. There's a stab of disappointment in my gut that I'll probably never get to see Ronin so vulnerable again, but I can't focus on that now.

Both he and Indy are in the living room talking quietly when I walk out, and they both turn in my direction. Ronin's gaze sweeps down my body and leaves nothing but heat in its wake, but Indy barely gives me a glance before he's eyeing his co-worker with a raised eyebrow. Ronin quickly shuts down any interest showing on his face, but a tiny part of me is doing a happy dance that his flirty ways and heated stares didn't go away with his nap.

Then I'm forced to remind myself, for at least the tenth time today, that that's not a good thing. I need my crush on Ronin to go away, not have fun with it. Damn, I really need a distraction of the penis variety.

"You boys ready? I've gotta be at the office in forty-five minutes, and traffic is always shit in this town, so we need to go, like, ten minutes ago." I sling my bag over my shoulder, but as I walk by Ronin, he reaches up and grabs it from me, hefting it onto his own shoulder. I give him a grateful smile and a thanks but don't want to make a big deal out of it.

Indy goes first, scanning the hall before giving me the all-clear to leave the safety of my apartment, and Ronin locks up behind us. While Indy is usually lighthearted and joking around, not taking things all that serious, I can totally see the switch in him right now into a fierce bodyguard.

Ronin, too, when I chance a look back at him. They both have this aura of danger about them that gives off a real don't fuck with me vibe.

No one jumps out of the shadows to try and steal me away on the trip down to the parking garage, and I climb uneventfully into the back seat of Indy's company-issued blacked-out SUV.

I zone out on the drive over to my office, and the two guys up front talk quietly amongst themselves. It's not until the door to my left is pulled open that I realize we're parked in the garage under my office building. All the thoughts I've been working hard to push out of my mind about what happened last night have been having a goddamn carnival of torture the entire way over here. One of those rusted and creepy carnivals with out of tune music and homicidal clowns.

When I get out of the car, despite being flanked by two huge guys, I feel like there are eyes all over my body, but in the worst way.

The teeny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rise up, and I glance around but don't see anyone.

"We've got you, Spitfire. We're not going to let anything happen, promise." Ronin's words are murmured from behind me, where he's watching my back as we wait for the elevator. It's sweet that he thinks he can promise that, but there are no guarantees in life. Still, him being here settles my nerves a bit.

"Thank you," I manage to say with not even a hint of snark because, really, this moment isn't one to joke around about. Some crazy asshole could be out there watching, and that's a sobering thought.

"I, for one, am hoping that freak tries again. It's been too long since I've had a good fight," Indy says cheerfully, and I gape at him like he's nuts.

He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. "What? I didn't say I wanted him to get you, just that I'd like to spill a little blood. That's all."

"Oh, well, if that's all," I say with an eye roll that would make Robert Downy, Jr. jealous.

On the elevator ride up to my office, I tap my foot impatiently, checking my phone and noticing that I'm already five minutes late. Shit. When the doors slide open, I don't wait for Indy or Ronin to do any sort of checking of the area; I dart out knowing I'm probably going to pay for it with a surly lecture about safety, but this meeting's been in the works for weeks.

The band is already in the conference room. Jericho Cole, the former drummer for Shadow Phoenix and now head of Phoenix Records, is inside, too, leaning against the wall with his tattooed arms folded across his chest, glowering at everyone. Then again, I think that's just his default expression, and he doesn't actually mean anything by it.

Maybe.

As I’m about to push through the door, the ultimate numbnuts and extraordinarily arrogant co-worker of mine, Cedric, steps right into my path, blocking me. There’s a growl from behind me but I hold up my hand. See, I excel in putting this dicktart right in his place, which for some reason he thinks is above me.

To be clear, we’re on exactly the same level so he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, but here we are.

“I made sure to pop in and introduce myself to your clients, in case they want to know what it’s like to work with an actual professional,” he sneers and I fold my arms across my chest, giving him my most unimpressed and bored look. Sometimes I let the immense well of contempt I hold for him underneath peek out, but I don’t have time for that shit today. The guy doesn’t know how to be anything other than a dick, so like most dicks, I figure if I don’t give him any attention, he’ll go away.

It takes all of thirty uncomfortable seconds of him waiting for a reaction he’ll never get before he glares and stomps off muttering under his breath about how I must’ve slept my way to the top.

I didn’t, FYI. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, but he can think whatever he wants. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.

Finally, I step into the conference room.

"Sorry I'm late," I say as I hurry to set my stuff down. Ronin pushes into the room ten seconds after I do with a glare aimed in my direction that could turn sand into glass. I’m not sure whether he’s more pissed about the elevator thing or the Cedric thing, but I can’t dwell on it now.

"It's fine; we've been here less than five minutes," Aurin, the lead singer of Death by Debauchery, says, waving me off with a huge, crooked grin that I'm sure gets him into tons of panties, and if not yet, then soon, when they're a big fucking deal in the music industry.

Yep, I’m gonna make that happen. To be clear—the huge deal thing, not the panties thing.

The band only has two guys, Aurin sings and plays piano and guitar, and Jett plays drums and writes their music. They're crazy talented, and I'm dying for Jericho to get them on his label. I haven't been this excited about a band since Jericho's wife, Moon, discovered Tuesday Told a Secret.

Ronin swings his glare from me to Aurin, and I don't like the way he's looking at my brand new client. "You," Ronin grunts, pointing at Aurin, "Get up."

I narrow my eyes at his tone. "You could be nicer to my client, Ronin. I doubt he's our guy."

"You can't discount anyone, Montana. Let me do my job."

I huff but relent. "Sorry, guys. This is Ronin, and he's my bodyguard. I had an incident, and so he's going to be sticking with me for a little while. He's got a partner somewhere." I crane my neck and look around, finding Indy posted up right outside the door to the conference room. "Ah, there he is. That's Indy. Anyway, you can ignore their presence. I know I do."

Ronin's jaw ticks, but otherwise, you wouldn't know my words got to him. Jericho's watching with interest, and his eyes glitter with amusement. "I'm assuming you're going to pat Jericho down, too? You know, in the name of being suspicious of everyone," I mock as Ronin roughly handles Aurin before moving on to Jett.

"I wouldn't suggest putting your hands on me," Jericho says casually, but there's an underlying threat in his words that Ronin takes seriously and doesn't go near him.

"Have you finished? Is it safe to talk business now?" I say, getting incredibly annoyed at this entire process. Ronin didn't need to take it this far, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say he got jealous of the way Aurin smiled at me.

"No, I need to sweep the room for devices, look through bags-"

"Can I talk to you outside?" I say through gritted teeth.

Ronin sweeps his arm out, and I move through the door first. I can feel my pulse thumping in my temple, and I'd bet my last bag of peanut M&Ms that my face is flushed from how pissed off I am.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I whirl around. "What the fuck was that?" I hiss, and Indy moves toward us, joining our huddle.

"What happened?" Indy asks on high alert.

"Your asshole co-worker here decided my clients were suspicious enough to need not only a pat-down but to have all their belongings searched and to scan the room for listening equipment or something. What's next, a fucking cavity search?"

"We have no idea who tried to take you. We have protocols for a goddamn reason. We can't count anyone out right now, so yes, I'm going to do what the fuck I have to do to make sure you don't get fucking taken. If that means making your clients a little uncomfortable, then so be it."

We're both breathing hard, and I can admit he sort of has a point, but still. "You were in the room with me, and Indy was posted at the door. What the hell do you think they're going to do? Pull me out of there kicking and screaming, disarm the two of you and Jericho and get me out of the building without anyone noticing?"

My hands are planted on my hips, and all I can think about is punching him right in the dick with how mad I am—that or, you know, throwing myself at him for an epic makeout sesh.

"Okay, okay. Ronin needs to go back to the office anyway, so why don't you Uber back, and I'll stay here and take Montana home after? You can meet us back there when you're done," Indy says, stepping between us and playing peacekeeper.

Ronin clenches his jaw but finally nods once and then stalks off. I watch him go, deflating as he gets further away. "Thanks," I tell Indy, and he nods.

"You ready to go back in?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

He holds open the door and then follows me inside. All my earlier bluster is gone, and now I'm just tired. The meeting goes well, and Jericho promises to send over a contract by the end of the day for the guys to review. I know he's impressed because he usually likes to talk his offers over with the rest of the guys in Shadow Phoenix since they help run the label, too, but this time he offered Aurin and Jett a contract right away.

By the time everyone leaves the office, I feel like I've been run over by a fucking semi-truck about fifty times. I'm desperate for a bubble bath and some chocolate and maybe a steamy book to get lost in.

Indy sticks to my side the entire way back to my apartment, insisting I sit in the back of the SUV instead of the passenger seat because, apparently, it's safer in these situations. He checks the parking garage when we get home and stays so close on our ride up the elevator that we're practically touching.

There aren't any sparks or anything, not like when I'm near Ronin and I can feel the tension crackling between us. Still, having Indy here lets the tension slide off my shoulders for a bit knowing he’s got my safety covered.

The hallway to my apartment is empty, and Indy takes my keys and goes inside first. When I walk in behind him, the first thing I notice is how warm it is. Warmer than it should be, considering I keep the AC set at seventy year-round.

"Stay there," Indy barks out from somewhere inside, and I freeze in my tracks, my adrenaline taking off like a racehorse after a gunshot and my head starting to spin. My heart’s beating so fast I feel it through my entire body.

"Okay, you're scaring the shit out of me. What is it?"

"Someone's been in here." Indy comes back into the room from the direction of my bedroom. "All your windows are open. Every single one, and your bed looks like Freddy Krueger’s scratching post."

"Fuck." Despite the heat, a cold chill sweeps over my skin.

"Sit on the couch and don't move. I'm calling Ronin." He pulls out his phone, all business, until a smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. "He's gonna be so fucking pissed off he wasn't here."

Isn't that some shit? Because right now, I'm a little bit pissed off that he's not here, too, and that's the last thing I should be feeling toward someone I have no future with. Apparently, my heart hasn't gotten the memo.